


high is the heavenly sea

by starkhasheart



Series: low lays the devil [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blasphemy, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, M/M, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Roleplay, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 19:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20158522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkhasheart/pseuds/starkhasheart
Summary: In which a demon wants to fuck the holiness out of an angel, and the angel enthusiastically complying.





	high is the heavenly sea

**Author's Note:**

> hi. yesterday (aug 6) was my birthday. so i wrote more porn. i don't know about you but i'm feeling 22  
id suggest reading low lays the devil in me first bc. it's porn. you can't get enough porn
> 
> follow me on tumblr: mixedpaints.tumblr.com

Per their new Arrangement, Crowley eventually gets his turn with the angel.

They discuss it a few nights before, when Aziraphale is spending the night at Crowley’s flat. They’re resting in one of Crowley’s beds, the one he uses the most, legs intertwined, Crowley’s head laying against Aziraphale’s chest. He hears the angel breathing, a habit the two have adopted during their time on Earth, and Crowley feels at peace. He decides this is the perfect time to ask.

“Angel,” he murmurs against Aziraphale’s clothed skin. Aziraphale makes a noise, one hand holding a novel while his other hand threads through his demon’s hair.

“Yes, love?” his angel says quietly, scratching the back of Crowley’s head. Oh, that’s good.

“Mm,” Crowley hums, squeezing himself impossibly closer to Aziraphale. “You know our little Arrangement, right?”

Aziraphale cracks a smile, already seeing where this is going. “Yes, dear. What about it?”

“Well,” Crowley drawls, crawling up Aziraphale’s plush body so he can bury his face in the other’s neck, pressing a kiss to pale flesh. Aziraphale lets out a contented sigh, gently closing the book in his hands and setting it off to the side. “Don’t you think it’s my turn to have a little fun?”

Aziraphale hums, contemplating Crowley’s words, as the demon works his mouth on Aziraphale’s neck, mouthing at his skin, teeth scraping against flesh. The angel can’t suppress the shiver that wiggles down his spine.

“Right now?” Aziraphale asks, and he feels Crowley chortle into the crook of his neck. The demon’s nose glides from the slope of his throat to the soft angle of his jawline, up until they’re meeting eye to eye, amber and steel.

“I want it to be a _sssurprise_,” Crowley hisses, a devilish smirk playing across thin lips. “Like you do with me. It’s more fun that way, wouldn’t you agree?”

Aziraphale makes a contemplative noise as the demon gets back to work kissing his neck, dragging teeth along the curve of his throat. The angel feels something stirring deep within him, and part of him hopes that maybe Crowley will change his mind and they can do it _now_.

“I suppose it is,” Aziraphale muses, with a quiver in his voice. Crowley’s pushed the collar of his loose sleep shirt to the side so he can have a go at the angel’s bare shoulder. “When were you thinking, dear?”

“Ah, ah,” Crowley tuts, hot breath puffing against Aziraphale’s naked skin. The angel feels like he’s about to walk into a wall of hellfire, but willingly. “Like I said, it’s more fun when it’s a surprise.” The demon’s hands reach up to grasp at Aziraphale’s other shoulder, nails digging into the meat there. Aziraphale can’t help the small moan that escapes his lips, a silent prayer for Crowley to have mercy on him. “I like to keep my angel on his toes.”

“Naughty thing,” Aziraphale scolds, but there’s no venom behind it—he’s currently focused on trying not to melt under Crowley’s touch and his slit pupils, now dilating at the state of his angel.

The demon chuckles darkly, nipping at Aziraphale’s collarbone, a bone padded with a layer of fat and skin. This does not stop the angel from letting out an unsophisticated yelp.

“Expect me at any time, angel,” Crowley warns, head lolling to the side as he eyes Aziraphale lazily, yet like a predator scrutinizing its prey. He is waiting for a moment of weakness, then he will strike. “And you know you can use our word if need be.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathes, before Crowley leans in and takes his mouth for his own.

Today is the day it happens, and it happens in Aziraphale’s usual haunt: his bookshop.

He’s finally shooed off the remaining customers for the day and has closed up, flipping the sign and locking the door with a flick of his wrist. He closes the blinds, preventing any nosey glances from permeating through dusty windows. It’s barely evening but he’s had enough of customers for the day; one almost came close to buying one of his precious books and it stressed him out to no end. The angel decides that he will relax for the rest of the evening.

Before that, though, he decides to take quick stock, a task that never takes long as he can recall every title and book author in his shop with no problem, along with their exact locations on the shelves and resting on tables. The books tend to get rearranged whenever patrons can’t keep their hands to themselves and it’s up to Aziraphale to put them back in their rightful places.

He’s in the middle of slotting a book back into its place on a bookshelf when he feels it.

It’s a shift in the atmosphere of the room, like another being has started occupying the same space. He feels it in his skin and hears it in his ears, and Aziraphale frowns. He knows he locked the door, so it couldn’t be a stray customer wandering through his shop; it _obviously_ isn’t a ghost or anything of the sort; so what could it be? Aziraphale stills for a moment, straining his ears for any signs of an intrusion, but the feeling suddenly dissipates.

Hm.

Best not to dwell on it, Aziraphale tells himself. He finishes rehoming his books and putters back, through the bookcases, when it hits him.

Something grasps at the nape of his neck and _tugs_, and he’s suddenly being slammed forward against the side of a bookshelf, a familiar weight pressing against his back, pressing him into the wood. He chokes out a gasp, the breath being momentarily knocked out of his lungs, and the grip around his neck tightens.

“Hello, _angel_,” and oh, Aziraphale _knows_ that voice, that voice that brings him joy and fills him with love and pure lust all at once; he feels it rumble through the demon’s chest against his back, a deep timbre, coated in something absolutely devilish.

“Wh-what are you doing here, demon?” Aziraphale finally chokes out, and he doesn’t even recognize his own voice. The initial shock of being tackled is still running through him, but it’s being quelled once he realized it’s only Crowley, and they talked about this, and he always has the word to fall back on if need be.

Crowley’s clever hand snakes its way from the back of Aziraphale’s neck to curl around his throat, allowing him to press himself even closer to the angel. And oh, Aziraphale can feel the heat of hellfire rolling off him in waves, and he can feel the evidence of Crowley’s arousal pressing insistently against his backside. The angel could tease Crowley about how he’s already hard, but Aziraphale is already treading into dangerous territory as it is.

“Was nearby, decided to nip in for a”—his mouth is close to Aziraphale’s ear, breath tickling the angel’s skin—“_quick temptation_. I knew just where to come to do it.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean,” Aziraphale stammers, swallowing. He feels his Adam’s apple bob against the pressure of Crowley’s palm, a reminder. “There is no one to tempt here.”

“Think you’ve got that one wrong, angel,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale can hear the smirk in his voice. “Got someone right here.”

“Oh,” is all Aziraphale can muster once Crowley takes one of his earlobes between his teeth, tugging and sucking on it, and _oh_, he’s completely forgotten Crowley’s more serpentine features, as he feels a forked tongue curl around the shell of his ear before dragging a stripe down a sliver of flesh at Aziraphale’s neck.

“You cannot tempt me, foul fiend,” Aziraphale manages to grit out, trying to suppress a shiver as Crowley’s hand tightens around his neck. It’s not like it makes a difference, but they like to pretend. “I am an angel, a member of the Almighty’s Holy Army. I will not fall for the wiles of a lowly demon such as yourself.”

“If you’re so high and mighty,” Crowley challenges, grinding his hips against Aziraphale’s backside, “then why not smite me where I stand, hm? I’m sure you could destroy me with one heavenly snap of your fingers.”

The demon’s entirely right, of course; if Aziraphale decided to he could end Crowley’s existence with a mere thought, but even thinking about it makes him deeply sad, and he frowns. Crowley can probably sense Aziraphale’s hesitation, so he’s quick to change the subject.

“And _besidesss_,” the demon hisses, and oh how Aziraphale loves when Crowley’s lisp comes out—it always sends goosebumps trailing down his arms, “it must be so tiring, being so uptight all the time. I think you need to relax, _angel_. Live a little. I can be just the thing you need.”

Aziraphale _needs_ him, all right. His mind flashes with images of tongue and teeth and hands and nails scraping down the expanse of backs, leaving marks. Images of legs wrapped around waists and sounds of moans filling his ears. And he feels it, the telltale throbbing between his legs, and his knees are shaking.

He’s so close to giving in already, by God, he wants to, he wants to let Crowley take control and have him in all the ways the demon wants, wants to be completely torn apart and built anew, drained dry and filled at the same time. But he has a role to play, and Aziraphale’s always a stickler for theatrics.

“But I’m an angel,” he whimpers, trying to press his thighs together to garner any friction; he hopes his arousal isn’t obvious. “It—it wouldn’t be right—”

“Imagine all I could give you, angel,” Crowley insists, voice low and rough and Aziraphale wants to melt into the demon, to meld with him and become one. The demon’s free hand reaches around the angel to drag down his chest, starting to ruck up his shirt. Aziraphale whimpers when he feels hellfire-hot hands brush against the cool expanse of his stomach. “Who bloody cares what’s wrong and right anymore? God’s not here. She doesn’t care.”

Aziraphale knows Crowley is right, in the context of the scene and in the real world. God has been a silent entity somewhere far off from everything, not even bothering to pop in during the Armageddon that didn’t happen—there’s no telling if She’s still there or not, listening and watching. A part of Aziraphale feels empty at the thought, though his Heavenly Love is still intact. But he shoves these thoughts to the side, rather preoccupied with the hot wetness building between his thighs and the mass of demon pressed up against him, crowding him against the side of the bookshelf, his clothed, hardened cock pressing against him deliciously through the angel’s trousers.

“Besides,” Crowley continues, and he sounds absolutely dangerous as his travelling hand goes lower. “I’ve always wanted to corrupt an angel. It’s on top of my bucket _lissst_.”

Aziraphale actually whimpers when Crowley’s hand dips under the band of his trousers, exploring the expanse of soft belly the angel has to offer, until he reaches between the apex of his legs. His curious search screeches to a halt, immediately, when he feels the cloying wetness soaking through Aziraphale’s underwear, and then the demon suddenly lets out a lewd sound.

“Oh, _angel_,” he whispers. “You’ve given me such a gift on this day.”

Aziraphale lets out another pathetic noise as Crowley’s fingers skim through the wetness, barely touching him where he needs it the most. “Please.”

Crowley lets out a dark chuckle, cupping Aziraphale’s mound through his underwear. “Please what, angel?”

“Please—please have mercy on me,” and as soon as it leaves the angel’s lips he’s being whipped around, back shoved against the side of the bookshelf roughly, and Crowley is staring at him with wild amber eyes, no whites to be seen, and the slits of his pupils are starting to widen as he finally gets to take in his angel.

“You beg so prettily,” the demon says, his face drawing closer to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale draws in his scent and through the cologne the demon fancies he can just smell Crowley—it’s not sulfurous like other demons, but the scent of fire and smoke, and it’s comforting as it wraps around Aziraphale in a gentle squeeze. “But you have to tell me what you _want_, angel.”

“But you already know,” Aziraphale protests. “Don’t make me say it.”

Crowley tuts, head lolling to the side. He’s still gripping Aziraphale’s throat and his hold tightens considerably.

“But I want to _hear you_, Aziraphale,” the demon hisses out, grinning wickedly. Their noses are almost brushing. “Want to hear that pretty voice of yours telling me what you want most.”

Aziraphale feels like he’s on the brink of exploding, and his face is flushed with arousal and embarrassment as he squeezes his thighs together for any amount of friction. Crowley takes notice and promptly shoves his knee and thigh between the angel’s legs to stop his movements, but it only gives Aziraphale something else to rut against.

And finally, Aziraphale admits defeat.

“Please corrupt me, Crowley,” the angel whispers, voice barely audible. “Taint me. Make me unholy, make me blaspheme against my Lord God. Take me. I want to be yours.”

That’s all Crowley needs to hear. Aziraphale sounds gorgeous when he begs.

The kiss is not gentle. It’s all tongue and teeth, lips crushing together in desperation, and Crowley’s hand finally leaves Aziraphale’s neck to thread through his hair, pulling at the strands. The angel moans against Crowley’s mouth, and this just eggs the demon on anymore; he will do anything to make the angel make those gorgeous sounds over and over until his voice runs raw.

Crowley’s mouth leaves a trail from Aziraphale’s down his jawline, to his neck, where his teeth sink into the exposed flesh there, hard enough to leave a mark—a repayment from last time. Aziraphale gasps, hands flying to Crowley’s sides for leverage. The angel is fully aware that tonight he is Crowley’s and Crowley’s only, and that he is going to be taken apart and built anew right under the demon’s fingertips, and the thought only makes him impossibly wetter.

And suddenly he’s being shifted, as Crowley ducks down and crooks his elbow behind Aziraphale’s knees, his other arm going to wrap around the small of the angel’s back, and he’s being lifted up, bridal-style, in the demon’s arms. Aziraphale can’t help but hide his face in embarrassment, and he knows if Crowley had a free hand he’d be yanking Aziraphale’s hands away from his face so he could see him.

“To bed with us,” Crowley says matter-of-factly, carrying the angel up to the tiny flat perched above the bookshop.

Crowley sets the angel on his back on the bed, being gentler than Aziraphale expected. He takes a step back, serpentine eyes running over Aziraphale’s plump form, taking in tan and tartan and cream. Aziraphale fidgets under Crowley’s hot stare.

“Too many clothes,” the demon mutters, lunging towards Aziraphale and smashing their mouths together again, distracting the angel while he gets to work on undressing him. Crowley knows the trousers will be the easiest but he wants to save those for last, wants to wait to see how truly aroused Aziraphale is for him. Crowley tugs off Aziraphale’s jacket and sets to work on his waistcoat, fingers deftly but shakily undoing the buttons. Crowley wants to curse; why did his angel need so many buttons? It’s ridiculous. But he’s finally got the offending article of clothing off, tossing it somewhere in the room, when he starts working on the angel’s undershirt. As more skin is revealed, Crowley leans down and presses kisses upon kisses against pale flesh, teeth scraping against skin. Aziraphale lets out a satisfied sigh, and finally his top half is unclothed.

“I want to see you,” Aziraphale murmurs, reaching toward Crowley. Crowley tsks, grabbing Aziraphale’s wrists and leaning over him, pinning them against the mattress.

“Not about me tonight, angel,” the demon says, squeezing the other’s wrists. “I’m corrupting _you_ tonight. Hands to yourself.”

Aziraphale almost looks hurt, and Crowley wants to rescind his earlier statement, wants to give his angel what he wants, but the other man-shaped being merely nods in consent. Crowley releases his hands, knowing that Aziraphale will keep them there.

“Now here comes the fun part.” Crowley grins at his angel and shimmies down his body, fingers looping under the band of Aziraphale’s trousers and underwear. It’s a slow slide, dragging them down the angel’s milky thighs and legs, but it’s oh so worth it when Crowley is finally met with a full on naked angel, with creamy skin and thick thighs and a soaking wet cunt in the middle of him all.

“I want to see more,” Crowley says, voice gravely, and he lets his hands cup the bottom of Aziraphale’s thighs, fingers digging into the meat of them, and he hopes they leave bruises. He spreads the angel’s legs, and Crowley can smell Aziraphale’s arousal, hot and salty and musky and his mouth is watering. Crowley finally gets an eyeful of Aziraphale’s pussy, fat lips spread to reveal a soft pink inside, a little patch of white curls the cherry on top of this delectable sundae.

“Oh, _angel_,” Crowley says again, voice full of reverence and love, despite the fact he’s supposed to be a wicked demon tainting an angel. Despite this, it makes a shiver dance down Aziraphale’s back.

The angel squeaks when Crowley’s fingers spread his lips, taking in Aziraphale’s most intimate parts. His clit is hard and throbbing, a bit bigger than average. With a curious digit Crowley circles the organ, eliciting a cry and a full-body jerk from his angel. A toothy smirk spreads across the demon’s lips, as he presses his finger against Aziraphale’s clit as if it were a button.

“_Crowley_—” Aziraphale whimpers, sounding almost like a wounded animal.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Crowley leans closer to the angel’s cunt, tossing Aziraphale’s legs over his shoulders. The demon’s mouth waters and he sends a knowing look up at the other being, and what he gets in answer is a jerky nod.

When Crowley puts his mouth on Aziraphale, the angel lets out a shaky sigh, fingers an iron grip on the bed’s comforter. And oh, Aziraphale tastes _wonderful, _salty yet sweet and everything Crowley expects from his angel. He laps hungrily at Aziraphale’s folds, nibbles on the outer labia, lets his tongue race circles around his clit; he’s doing everything in his power to make Aziraphale go absolutely batty. Crowley thinks he’s succeeding, by the way Aziraphale is whining and the way his back is arching. Crowley decides to go even farther, letting his tongue morph into something more serpentine, slipping between Aziraphale’s folds and sliding inside the angel with ease.

“Oh, Crowley—” Aziraphale sounds wanton, his hips twitching against Crowley’s face, almost as if he’s trying to grind up against the demon’s mouth, yearning for friction. “Oh, you beautiful, brilliant demon, please don’t _stop_—”

The praise sends goosebumps down Crowley’s arms as he hoists Aziraphale up higher, so that his back is curved and the only parts of him touching the bed are his head and shoulders. Aziraphale crosses his legs behind Crowley’s head, and somebody he’s trapped between the angel’s thick thighs, and he wants to nibble them, kiss them, sink his teeth into the flesh, he wants to be suffocated by them. But his mouth does not move from Aziraphale’s cunt, fucking the angel open with his tongue, bringing a thumb to circle his clit. He can feel how close Aziraphale is already, how his pussy is fluttering around his tongue, so Crowley goes faster, pistoning his tongue in and out of Aziraphale and rubbing insistently at his clit.

“Oh, God, oh fuck, I’m so _close_, dear, _please_, yes, right there, right _there_, ah—” Aziraphale babbles on, and he’s becoming incoherent, and Crowley knows he’s teetering on the edge. He thrusts his tongue upwards against that spongy spot inside Aziraphale and thumbs his clit and the angel is coming, hard and almost violent, his cunt clenching around Crowley’s tongue like a vice. Aziraphale lets out a drawn-out moan of Crowley’s name, the sound going right to the demon’s painfully hard cock, straining in his trousers.

After an eternity Aziraphale finally comes down from his orgasm, panting like he’s just run a marathon, sweat beading along his temples. His pupils are blown wide and he’s flushed, looking completely spent. He gazes at Crowley, dazed, taking in the demon’s face, pink with his chin coated in Aziraphale’s spend and arousal. The demon’s eyes are wide, a circle of black rimmed with yellow, and he’s staring at Aziraphale like he wants to devour him whole.

“Ah,” is all Aziraphale can manage, and Crowley is on him at once, kissing him fervently. Aziraphale can taste himself on Crowley’s tongue and he moans into the demon’s mouth, hungry for more. He hears the clack of a belt unbuckling and the zip of trousers behind undone, and all the angel wants to do is undress his demon and press kisses all over his skin, but he knows Crowley will just reprimand him for touching him.

Once Crowley’s finally wrangled himself free of his clothing he’s on Aziraphale again, and there’s nothing between their skin. Despite being cold-natured all Aziraphale can feel is white hot heat rolling off the demon’s body in waves. The angel takes in Crowley’s freckled shoulders, looking like that of the galaxies he so lovingly created. All Aziraphale wants to do is to touch, to kiss, to lick, and to bite.

Crowley sets back on his knees, his cock hard and bouncing against his stomach. He grabs Aziraphale’s thighs and spreads them, tucking them behind his waist. The demon cocks his head to the side, eyes dragging over Aziraphale like he was art in a museum with a subject Crowley’s so desperately trying to figure out. Crowley runs a tongue over his teeth, giving a menacing smile.

“You ready for me to taint you, angel? For me to fuck the holiness right out of that pretty little head of yours?” Crowley’s dragging his cock between the angel’s soaked lips, its head bumping against Aziraphale’s clit. The angel moans in response, wiggling his hips. Crowley’s cockhead catches on his entrance, but the demon does not move to push in.

“You gotta tell me, Aziraphale,” Crowley hums, drumming his fingers on Aziraphale’s thighs. “You know I want to hear you _sssay_ it.”

“You’re such a fiend,” Aziraphale mutters, narrowing his eyes up at his demon. Crowley gives a cocky smirk, pinching the skin near one of the angel’s knees, causing him to squeak.

“I’m waiting, angel.” Crowley thrusts against Aziraphale’s cunt, cock dragging against his folds deliciously.

Aziraphale moans, covering his eyes with his forearm in embarrassment. “Please, Crowley.”

“_Pleassse _what?”

Aziraphale believes that after this he may beat Crowley senseless. “Please, fuck me, Crowley. Fuck the goodness right out of this body.”

Finally, Crowley complies.

The initial breech of Crowley’s cock is slow and arduous, driving Aziraphale mad at first. The angel thinks that Crowley made this particular Effort with him in mind, thicker than average, stretching him deliciously and dragging along his walls wonderfully. Aziraphale groans, as Crowley finally sinks completely in him to the hilt. He stays still for a moment, allowing his angel to get used to his intrusion, but he does swivel his hips again, punching a whine out of his angel.

Once Aziraphale has adjusted to the stretch, Crowley moves, setting a brutal pace already. Aziraphale cries out at the first initial thrust, hearing the headboard clack against the wall, possibly leaving a scuff he’ll have to deal with later. Right now he’s too preoccupied with the demon on top of him, inside of him, pistoning his hips like he’s really trying to force the holiness out of Aziraphale with his cock alone.

“So bloody _tight_ for me, angel,” Crowley croons, voice surprisingly steady as he cants his hips. “Only for me. Only I get to fuck you like this, to see you come undone, to be the one making you come apart at the seams. Isn’t that right?” He leans down to punctuate his statement with a bite to his angel’s shoulder, and Aziraphale cries out.

“Yes,” Aziraphale pants, and he finally gets to touch Crowley, flinging his arms around the demon’s shoulders, scrabbling at his back. “Only yours, dearest. I only want you, I only want your cock, please, Crowley, _harder_—”

“What would the other angels think, seeing you like this?” Crowley moans against Aziraphale’s bitten shoulder, running his tongue over the indentations. “On your back for a demon, taking my cock so well? Begging for it wantonly like some common whore? Oh, but I bet the angels wish they could be me right now, angel. You’re so goddamn _pretty_, it’s a surprise none of the angels had their way with you.” Crowley dug his nails into the meat of Aziraphale’s thighs, leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises there for the angel to reminisce over tomorrow.

“But I bet I know why,” Crowley continues, and his thrusts have grown uncoordinated and sloppy—he’s already close, as is Aziraphale, his clit throbbing and cunt beginning to draw tightly around his demon’s thick cock. “Because they knew who you belong to. That none of them could satisfy you. That the only one who can fuck you properly is _me_. Isn’t that right, angel?”

Aziraphale keens when Crowley shifts his hips and fucks upward, sending shooting stars into Aziraphale’s vision with every thrust. Aziraphale can’t even dignify what Crowley’s saying with a response; he’s too lost within the throes of pleasure, his brain malfunctioning with every jab of Crowley’s hips.

The angel doesn’t last much longer. Once Crowley sinks his teeth onto the top of Aziraphale’s right breast, hard enough to draw blood, it’s over, his cunt clamping down tightly on Crowley’s cock, and he falls off the edge with a cry of his demon’s name. White hot pleasure washes over him in waves as his cunt flutters around Crowley’s cock, and he knows the demon is close as well, because he’s babbling.

“Feels so fucking good, angel, fuck,” Crowley grunts, dragging black nails down Aziraphale’s belly, leaving red welts. “Want me to stuff you, fill you up with my seed?”

“_Yes_.” And Aziraphale sighs when he feels it, the warmth of Crowley’s come gushing in him in hot spurts, filling him delightfully. Part of him wishes he could feel like this forever, full of Crowley’s cock and love.

Crowley collapses on top of Aziraphale, the only sounds in the room being the bustle of Soho’s nightlife outside and the sound of their heavy breathing. They lay there in comfortable silence, Crowley’s head resting against Aziraphale’s chest while the angel traces patterns on Crowley’s back, covered in scratches from Aziraphale’s nails. He frowns, hoping he didn’t cause his demon too much pain.

Eventually, Crowley pulls out, Aziraphale whining at the sudden emptiness; but, like the previous time, Crowley snaps into existence a plug and slides it inside his angel, Aziraphale sighing in content. The demon lets his eyes run over his angel, taking in the beautiful sight before him; Aziraphale’s hair is more mussed than usual, his face pleasantly flushed, his shoulders and neck covered in bite marks and bruises, his belly striped with red welts, his thighs coated in slick and sweat and dotted with bruises—it’s all rather beautiful, Crowley thinks.

The demon crawls next to Aziraphale and pulls him close, letting his head rest on his chest. They both let out a contented sigh, bone-tired from the night’s activities. Crowley buries his nose into Aziraphale’s cotton hair, drawing in a deep breath.

“Did you enjoy yourself, dearest?” Aziraphale murmurs, nuzzling against his love.

“Angel, _enjoy_ can’t even encompass it,” Crowley says, feeling completely sated. “What about you?”

“I feel thoroughly debauched and I enjoyed every second of it,” Aziraphale says, tracing circles along Crowley’s stomach. “You have a lovely way with words, my dear. I do love when you…talk dirty, is it?”

Crowley chuckles, leaning down to kiss Aziraphale’s head. “Anything for my angel. How about a quick shower and we can head to bed, hm?”

“That sounds lovely, dearheart. Lead the way.”


End file.
